


Demons in Dissonance

by miiilktea



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - T. S. Eliot
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, An insect is killed, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29999598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miiilktea/pseuds/miiilktea
Summary: When rumors of Macavity's death begin to circulate after his disappearance, Munkustrap recalls one of many incidents that could've foreshadowed his brother's future.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Demons in Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be the first chapter of a multi-chapter fic, but you know. Lack of free time and confidence, etc. I may get around to continuing should inspiration strike, but for now, it'll be a oneshot.

Munkustrap took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke trail up in silver ribbons against the twilight.

It had been three months since the rumors of Macavity's death had begun to circulate, and two and a half months since he'd picked up a cigarette for the first time. He reckoned it could be a worse habit. Skimbleshanks was no longer the only one known to indulge in a good glass or three of Scotch in one night, but Munkustrap preferred to have his wits about him at all times. Alcohol was the vice that his father used to take comfort in before becoming leader--the same poison in which Macavity drowned his own misfortune. Munkustrap had experienced enough of its effects for a lifetime.

He exhaled again and glanced down at his watch. It was nearly five in the morning, and he'd hardly slept. His eyes kept wandering toward the west side of the woods, on the other side of the river, where his brother had last been seen. It was as if Munkustrap expected to see him crossing the bridge, alive, but only as well as he'd ever been.

If the rumors did prove true, Macavity would certainly not be missed in spite of his notoriety. At least not to the Jellicles. That was the thing about being a Jellicle. At the head of a tribe was a single leader, and laws in the woods were different than the laws in the city. Like any Jellicle criminal, Macavity's body, if recovered, would have been wrapped and buried in an unmarked grave. Nobody outside their community would care enough to look for him should they become aware of his disappearance, especially since he had "disappeared" countless times. Jellicles don't hurt those outside their community. It's the way it's always been. Stealing outside the community was common, even expected. Killing or other harm was not. Honorable burials were for honorable Jellicles. They were cremated, their ashes scattered in the night, presumably carried to the moon by the wind, to look down on their loved ones for eternity. Criminals were always buried. It was quick, dirty, and impersonal.

Munkustrap tossed the cigarette to the dirt and smothered it under his heel.

_No. I don't miss him._

He caught himself.

It was only a rumor, after all--one of many. They hadn't been true before. Why should this time be any different?

Something caught the corner of his eye, and he turned to see a small blue butterfly perched on the tree trunk just beside him.

The first thing that went through his mind was how odd it was for a butterfly to be out and about before sunrise. Immediately following that thought, he was flooded with a vivid memory he hadn't recalled since it happened nearly 25 years ago.

* * *

The sky that evening was that fiery orange color it usually was when summer was just turning into autumn. Thirteen-year-old Macavity had been ignoring calls to come in for dinner, and six-year-old Munkustrap was doing the same in spite of his rumbling belly.

He was scared of his older brother most of the time. Macavity's moods were unpredictable, and most of his days were spent moping around alone outside, arguing with the adults, and chasing around the younger kids to tell them disturbing, macabre stories they'd hoped he'd just made up. Although he'd been forbidden to use his magic, he'd threaten the younger kids with it, talking of setting fire to things and people. It did scare Munkustrap, but not enough to keep him off of his brother's heels.

He'd seen the magic before. He knew it was true even if nobody else believed it.

On the trunk of a tree outside their home was a butterfly, its pale blue wings spread as if it was just about to take flight. Macavity reached for it, plucking it from the trunk by its wing.

"Look at this," Macavity said, and Munkustrap watched, wide-eyed as the older boy took the other wing between his fingers and pulled, splitting the insect in half.

Munkustrap gasped softly, partially amazed, and a little bit upset. "Was it poisonous?" He asked.

Macavity wiped his hands on his jeans. "I don't think so."

"You didn't have to kill it."

"Well if it didn't want to be killed, it shouldn't have been out here all alone," Macavity said. "Butterflies are too keen to trust people."

Munkustrap squatted down, running a hand along the grass, trying to find the remains of the creature. "It wasn't going to hurt anyone," he muttered.

"Did you know that when you die, you come back as something else?" Macavity asked, kneeling down to Munkustrap's level. "Like a butterfly."

"That's not true."

"What happens, then?"

"You go to the Heaviside Layer."

Macavity smirked, his eyes twinkling. "And what happens after that?"

Munkustrap paused to think for a moment, and shrugged.

"You're reborn. As something else--something that's alive. This butterfly must've been someone who died," he said, reaching down to pluck one of the wings from a blade of grass. "Give me your hand."

"What happens if you're reborn as a butterfly and you die again?" Munkustrap stroked the velvety wing in his palm. "Do you go back to the Heaviside Layer?"

"I don't know. The cycle continues, I guess. Jellicle, butterfly, and then… well, if you happen to see a baby caterpillar, maybe they've just started over," Macavity said gently. "If you're good, you're reborn as something nice. Like a dove, or flowers." He licked his lips and leaned in closer to his brother. "If you're bad, you're reborn as something nasty, like a poisonous mushroom, or a venomous snake, or... maybe a toad."

Munkustrap nodded, looking down at the wing in his hand. He shivered slightly. It was hard to look Macavity in the eye sometimes, particularly when he was being kind. The soothing sound of his brother's voice combined with the ever-present leer on his face made Munkustrap's cheeks turn red, even more so when the words coming from his mouth were words that he didn't like to hear.

"Toads are nice," he whispered.

"What?"

Munkustrap could feel his palm start to sweat under the butterfly's wing. He felt the sudden urge to get up and run, but his legs were frozen beneath him. It was a familiar feeling. "Toads are nice," he repeated.

Macavity chuckled, and Munkustrap felt like he was going to be sick.

"Maybe toads used to be people who were sometimes nice, sometimes not," Macavity said. "Mum's a bit toady, don't you think?"

Munkustrap forced a small laugh.

"I bet Dad'll be reborn as a cockroach or something," Macavity said bitterly. He stood up. "Come on. Let's go inside."

Munkustrap started to follow him, and the older boy suddenly turned around, stopping him in his tracks with a firm squeeze on the shoulder.

"Don't you dare tell anyone about the butterfly," Macavity hissed, and his expression immediately softened. He winked. "It's a secret. Right, love?"

Munkustrap swallowed hard.

"Right," he whispered.

* * *

Munkustrap sighed shakily and headed back toward the house, his mind full of "what ifs" as it usually was when he'd dwell upon those events. All the signs had been there, even back then. He'd noticed them at six. How could nobody else have noticed them?

He suddenly turned around, curious to know if the butterfly was still there, and it was. _Leave me alone,_ he nearly thought, but dismissed the notion as quickly as it had come. If Jellicles really were reincarnated after death, and if Macavity really _was_ dead, he would not have come back as something so beautiful.


End file.
